Hows you? Hope all is well and you enjoyed your holiday.
How am I? Well, rather more up and down than your average see-saw in the school holidays but, hey! whats new?
So where are we up to? Well, where shall one start?
OK, lets start at the very beginning, a very good place to start...
When you read you begin with A-B-C
When you're me you begin with Oh-Feck-me
The first three words just happen to be
Lets see if I can make it easy...
Oh...a mess, a whole big mess
Feck...I'm in this mess again
Me...my fault, its all my fault
Learn?...I'll never ever learn
So...an Ex got back in touch
Wait...is this such a good idea
Tea? nice meal and glass of wine
That will bring us back to
Bugger, I've gone and done it again, got myself involved with another of them men-type thingies you may have heard me mention before.
But no, not just an ordinary one, not one of the multitude of anonymous butchers, bakers or candlestick-makers (oh c'mon, somebody has to make them!) that happen to darken the door of my workplace every day, many of whom are available, few of whom are desirable. But no no, I've fallen under the charms of...drum roll please...An Ex.!
Is that it?
Well, actually, no its not, cos apart from BigEx, this was Quite BigEx. Not as big as Other BigEx though. (There are 3 Ex's, QBE would rank 3rd. Still following? Well done!)
We spent almost a year together, 10 years ago. Took in the Millenium together. At a Garage Party. No, not the 'meet in a car park and drive blindfolded to some mysterious location where the bass is pumpin and the girls are jumpin' type. No, it was in a garage. An actual garage. Albeit the Nissan Sunny had been vanquished for the night, but it was a garage. With disco lights. And decks. Oh, and a couch. Thats the stuff of dreams right there folks...
So why am I going back?
Now that is the question
As I sit here, exfoliated and depilated to within an inch of my life, clutching my glass of Co-op's Finest whilst my Ted Baker Body Souffle ensconsed limbs slither off the leather couch, I ponder that very thought and wait.
Waiting. My least favourite pastime in the whole wide world, if you'll excuse my regression to primary school. Well, not just general waiting, like til after you've had your bacon roll on Christmas Day til you open your presents, no I mean waiting for someone or something which has stated it will be in a certain given place at a certain given time. Not too much to ask for specified person or product to roll up on time and in a decent working order (4 hours late and wearing a kebab is definitely going to have me reaching for the Free Returns option)
But, sadly not for the first time, same scenario, bath, body lotion, best undies, bed alone.
So, in time honoured tradition, it's over before it's begun.
And the question is answered for me. I'm not.
I'm not going back. Ten years is a long time but some things don't change.
However I don't appear to be going forward either.
Ok, lets check on our 'up' abilities...
Nope, negative to a sunny disposition
Righty-o, hows about our 'down' dexterity?
Hmm, lets see, black fog approaching on the horizon, loss of appetite due to constant nauseous feeling, distancing from friends and family, increased wine intake...
Yep, reading you loud and clear there, fully operational
So theres a very good chance that the reason I'm not going forward is because I'm standing in the queue for that big old scary rollercoaster ride, my Big Dipper.
Well, at least its just the queue...
Don't fancy another ride on that Bad Boy again, isn't there anything we can do?
Need to try something else this time, another tactic, a different manoeuvre, something less harmful and definitely less expensive...
* a lightbulb appears*
Maybe, just maybe, writing about it more might help.
I've found these mails I've been writing you have been fairly cathartic and somewhat eye-opening when I make sense of what has been processed through the scrambled mess that is the inside of my head and made its way out through the tips of my fingers, maybe there-in lies my treatment.
I can't share these feelings with real people, luckily I'm blessed in the Friend Department and even have a few who have also been hit with this hideous evil depressed stick but really, who wants to listen to someone whinge on about how totally and utterly done they feel? Well feel is maybe an exaggeration because in the black times 'feeling' is like getting an upgrade to First Class on your first flight to Australia, there's a slim-to-none chance its gonna happen. You just exist. You 'get by'. You 'manage'. You carry out all the expected duties and functions which hopefully project to the outside world that "all here is fine", like the unfortunate trainee policeman given the responsibility of directing the rubber-necking traffic past a particularly gruesome Road Traffic Accident, Nothing to see here, Move along now...
Nope, real people, not an option
So here I find myself, sitting at the kitchen table, lap-top at the ready for my volley with vocabulary, battling with the barrage of thoughts fighting to make their way onto that coveted spot...the screen. Apparently that appears to be their only method of escape. Like a desperate Chilean Miner racing up and down endless tunnels searching for a way out but reaching a pile of rubble everytime, their only way out appears to be that one channel. That one single solitary link with the real world. And once they are there, there's a good chance they'll be allowed to stay, if they're good of course.
And maybe then they'll make some sense
Cos right now, its not making sense
So London, respite from the Big Dipper maybe?
Speak to you soon